


Hot Chocolate

by lellabeth



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Birthmarks, Deaf Clint Barton, Fluff, Insecure Phil, M/M, Phil Needs a Hug, boys who are bad at feelings, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:10:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lellabeth/pseuds/lellabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Clint had ever come into the shop, Phil had been flustered by a late-morning rush, burnt fingers and scalding droplets all over his skin. He’d turned to face Clint, feeling on edge as soon as he saw the tall, stocky man staring straight at his lips. The birthmark was lighter there, fading around the left corner of his mouth into a dusky pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> just a little something to get through the week. big hugs to Bryony for making it shiny!

Something about the smell of espresso feels like home to Phil.

After all the years he’s worked at The Daily Grind, through high school and now into college, he’s become familiar with the bitter smoke that sinks into his clothes. On bad days when it feels like everyone he walks past is recoiling from the claret splash of a birthmark across his cheek, the smell of coffee is enough to remind him that he belongs somewhere, that he has a purpose and a job and that he is good at something.

Clint reminds him of those things, too. The first time Clint had ever come into the shop, Phil had been flustered by a late-morning rush, burnt fingers and scalding droplets all over his skin. He’d turned to face Clint, feeling on edge as soon as he saw the tall, stocky man staring straight at his lips. The birthmark was lighter there, fading around the left corner of his mouth into a dusky pink.

The man had stared even as Phil asked him what he’d like to drink, and the mark had never felt more like a stain.

“Medium hot chocolate with a shot of caramel, please,” the man replied, his fingers moving in time with his words, as if it was second nature to speak with his hands as well as his lips.

 _Cream on top?_ Phil signed back, relieved when the man’s eyes dropped down to his fingers and away from his face.

 _It’s Monday_ , was all the man said in reply, and Phil smiled as he ticked the topping box on the side of the cup. On impulse he drew a smiley face just underneath the rim, signing _enjoy_ before he moved on to the next customer.

Since then, Clint’s made a habit of coming in a few times a week whenever Phil’s working (Darcy told him so). He always orders the same thing, and he always, always stares at Phil’s lips unless he’s looking at Phil signing instead. Phil still feels a cold prickle of discomfort at the base of his spine at Clint’s attention - a lifetime of wishing he could hide his birthmark has made him hyper-conscious of how obvious it is - but Clint has never done anything other than look, so Phil tells himself he’s curious rather than plain disgusted.

Sometimes Phil even shares his break at a little table in the corner with Clint beside him, talking about everything and nothing all at once. Clint speaks aloud sometimes, a furrow in his brow like he refuses to let his diction be anything less than perfect no matter how hard he has to work for it. He’s written little notes for Phil before now, too - ones to say he hopes Phil’s day is going well or that his hot chocolate tasted extra good that day. He leaves them tucked under his cup like a secret, something meant only for Phil to find.

On the day everything changes, Phil has had his worst morning in a long time - a group of guys his age had actually _pointed_ and laughed at him on the train, and a well-meaning older woman had intervened to tell them that looks weren’t everything and they shouldn’t mock ‘disfigured’ people. Phil had gotten off at the next stop and walked the last 5 blocks to work in the pouring rain, grateful it hid the burning tears rolling down his cheeks.

When Clint comes in and asks Phil if he is free for a drink, Phil shakes his head. Clint looks confused and hurt, and the look Darcy gives Phil is enough to make him head over to Clint’s table as soon as the line is cleared.

 _Bad day_ , he signs as soon as Clint looks up at him, shrugging his shoulders.

Clint tilts his head to the side.

Phil gestures toward his face slowly, then forces his fingers into signs that make him feel like every bone in them is fracturing. _Freak show._

Clint pinches his pointer and middle finger roughly against his thumb. _No._

Phil sits down in the chair next to Clint, trying to ignore the harsh sting of tears in his eyes.

Clint’s hand makes its way into his eye line. _No._ Clint’s hand rests on top of Phil’s, just for a second, before it retreats again.

Phil looks up.

Clint brings his hand up in front of his face, swiping it in an arc until his fingers are closed together by his chin. He has to repeat it a few times before Phil understands - it’s a sign he learned long ago but has never had said to him.

_Beautiful._

Phil squeezes his fingers together into a _no_ so hard that they hurt, but Clint wraps his left hand around Phil’s, like he’s hiding it in his palm.

 _Beautiful_ , he signs again, and then Clint turns Phil’s fingers until they’re pressed against his mouth. Clint’s lips are chapped and dry and the best thing Phil has ever felt. Clint takes that _no_ , kisses it until the sweetness turns it into an open palm instead.

Phil’s heart is pounding and his veins are full of sunshine, and he can’t breathe as Clint kisses his fingers again.

Phil makes a C with his free hand, holds it over his heart. Clint’s face is impossibly soft, his eyes achingly kind, like he understands all the things that Phil can’t say just yet, like he can hear them anyway.

After that, it’s not espresso that smells like home anymore.

It’s Clint.

 


End file.
